Chapter 1
Tate
“NEEEEXT!”
The voice comes barreling across the stage, penetrating the thick velvet curtain dividing us from them.It’s said with the same inflection as someone shouting, “Order up!”or “All aboard!”Urgency rides each letter of the word in a way that screams You’re late!I know a lot of people hate the nuances behind words, but I happen to love them.It’s what drew me to music in the first place.My sister’s bony fingers jab into my side, painfully poking my flesh and puncturing all thoughts.
“Ouch!”I shriek, turning my head as far as I can, inspecting what’s certainly on its way to a bruise.
“You’re up!Go!”
Her words snap me back to reality, and like a gun going off at a derby, my legs start moving at her command.The transition from the line I waited for hours to the stage is as subtle as birth.One minute you’re being pressed in from every corner, sharing each breath with hundreds of strangers, the next you’re in an entirely different dimension, bright lights blinding you from everywhere but the lip at the end of the stage, while electric blue rays filter through your fingers from the oversized sign taking up the entirety of the back wall.A camera hovers, following at close distance.I slow my pace, reminding myself that regardless of how this ends, I want to remember everything.
I redirect my gaze towards the front of the stage where three people sit behind a nondescript table.I reach for the stack of bracelets at my wrist, inching them up my forearm, before letting gravity pull them back into place, the familiar clatter of the beads a welcome sound in a place of so many unknowns.
When the idea to audition for America’s most popular singing competition arose, I remember thinking it would be fun.Now that I’m here, I know just how wrong I was.The tension from the other contestants is unlike anything I have ever experienced.It’s life or death.Sink or swim.I am but an obstacle in the way of their future.
“Now, who do we have here?”the first judge calls out.His voice is smooth and calming, a balm to my growing anxiety.Three pairs of eyes glow in the dimly lit area in front of the stage, tracking my movement.The thing is, unlike most people here, it isn’t about winning for me.From a young age, I have always loved to sing, but it wasn’t until our church did a series on spiritual gifts that I realized singing was mine.From there, I entrenched myself in music whenever I could with the goal of one day using my talent to serve God.I joined the school choir, took singing lessons after school, and then eventually made my way onto the church’s worship team.
I chance a look back at my mom and sister waiting to the left of the stage.Their faces, swollen with excitement, are like an internal zap of a defibrillator to my fading confidence.The physical response is immediate.I feel my shoulders roll back and my spine straighten as I finally hit the mark at the center of the stage.
Penny, the one female judge, smiles wide when she sees me.“Don’t know, but I like her style.”She punctuates her compliment with a quick, reassuring wink.
“Style?She looks like a rainbow threw up and that outfit was the outcome,” Michael, the judge to her left, spews, clearly deeply offended.Or maybe that’s just the British accent making everything come out a little questionable.Do you hate me or are you flirting with me?
From the duct-taped X on the floor, I can finally make out the faces belonging to the voices, faces I’ve only seen on the small television screen in my family’s living room.I release a breath that’s been buried in my chest, waiting for the next move.The producers told me what to expect—and from watching the show, I know how these auditions go—but somehow, being up here, I feel strangely lost.Mistakenly, I make eye contact with Michael.He swivels back and forth in his chair, clicking and unclicking his pen, eyes narrowing on me like I’m his prey.
“Let’s get this over with.Name, age, and hometown.”
“Michael!”Penny reprimands, the judge most known for her gentle touch.He turns his chair to face her, throwing his hands up, a confused scowl marking his face before he tosses his pen onto the table in frustration.Everyone watches in silence as the pen rolls closer and closer to the edge.Will it fall?The thought hangs in everyone’s mind.It stops, half on the table, half floating over the edge.
“Go on.”The first judge—Mr.Chamomile Tea, a.k.a.Tom—twirls a wrist for me to continue while Penny and Michael go back to having a nonverbal argument full of silent jabs sharp enough to leave marks.
“Hi, I’m Tate McGregor.I’m twenty-one, from New Orleans, Louisiana.”The sound of my own voice hits my ears and I want to wince.It’s me but watered down and unsure.Like, am I really Tate McGregor from New Orleans?My fingers crawl out of their entanglement with my other hand to grasp my bracelet, rolling the beads under my finger.
“McGregor, huh?Any relationship to the MMA fighter?Because I need to know the stakes of the audition before proceeding.”The laugh Tom emits at his own question, a question that I have been asked one too many times, starts in his belly and shakes itself all the way up to the surface.Absolutely contagious.
“Only in ethnicity!”I surprise myself when a laugh filters through my words, and my own smile grows more genuine.My gridlocked chest loosens as my lungs expand, unhindered for the first time since walking out here.If I’m going to be up here, I want to be fully me.Not slightly intimidated, wholly sleep-deprived me, but the real me.I let go of another breath, loving the freedom.
Michael releases an audible sigh into the microphone, filling the room with palpable frustration.
“Well, Tom, if you’re done making dad jokes now, maybe we can see if Tate here can actually carry a tune, huh?Can’t be much worse than what we’ve heard so far.What are you going to be singing?An Irish ditty?”
“I’m going to be singing ‘Bless the Broken Road’ by Rascal Flatts.”As soon as I finish my sentence, the bright spotlight overhead dims to a milky, pale yellow.The background instrumentals start, and I bring the microphone towards my mouth.
***
“Stop, stop, stop.Makeit stop,” Michael barks abruptly, face unchanged from the scowl he’s had on since I arrived.The song cuts and the lights click back to clinical white.My eyelids flutter in response to the change and I instinctually lower the mic to my side.
“It’s over?All that driving, waiting in lines, and the preliminary auditions...for four lines in a song?I didn’t even get to hit the high notes!”I whine.
A rare, accented “HA!”follows my frustrated rant, and my insides heat as the back of my neck goes slick.
“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”I ask, forcing a humorless laugh.Live TV, Tate.You are on live TV.This is no time to lose your filter.
“You most certainly did,” he affirms, unimpressed.“Give us a moment, will you?”he asks, but it’s not a real question, because without waiting for a response, he swivels back in the direction of the two other judges.I want to hear what they’re saying, but I also don’t...so I just stand there, like a meerkat in the savannah.Or one can at least hope to look that cute.After what feels like an eternity of not knowing what to do with my hands or face, they direct their attention back to me.
“Tate...”The sound of my name makes me feel dizzy, and suddenly I feel like there isn’t enough oxygen in the room. “Whereas your choice in wardrobe is questionable—”
